Melted Frost
by Frigidpaw of LightClan
Summary: I try. I really try. It's still no use. They still hate me. It makes me wonder sometimes... why do I even have to? What do I really want? Friends? Respect? Maybe I just want a little love. I'm not sure. But until I find out, my life will just keep looping in this infinite circle.


The trees seemed to whisper softly to one another in the night air. Silver moonlight filtered through the branches, reaching the forest floor, rich with the sounds of prey.

A slim tabby shape slipped silently through the thick undergrowth, coated in the shade. His pawsteps were rushed, turning every bush and tree trunk with eyes shifty and ears pricked. Looking up at the sky, he saw the full moon peering through the canopy, like a wide eye glaring accusingly at him.

He felt paranoid, aware of every step and every brush of his fur against the bushes. He paused from time to time, opening his jaws to taste the air. He wordlessly hoped that no one was out hunting right now, or was out on patrol. _What if I'm caught?_

Then his tail curled, noticing the forest beginning to thin out. He was at the edge of a small Thunderpath, tall trees overhanging it, shadows like long claws. He pricked his ears. It didn't seem dangerous for now; he couldn't hear any incoming monsters, and by the scent of it, they hadn't passed in a while.

He tasted the air, then drew back. "Kitsch! I know you're there!"

No reply. "Kitsch!" he tried again.

Still no reply. The young tom flicked his tail crossly, heartbeats of silence like a roaring in his ears.

 _I never should have come,_ he seethed inwardly.

"Wait! I'm here!"

Slowly, the other cat emerged from the dark and into the rough, black rock of the Thunderpath, and as he drew closer, the tabby tom began to recognize him properly. His smooth soot gray pelt and frosty scent were unmistakable. He had something in his jaws; a scrap of gray tabby fur, pitifully small.

The tabby huffed. "I really don't have all night, Kitsch."

Kitsch purred as he placed the kit down on the pebbly ground. "I don't need the entire night. Just wanted to see you's all. How are things going for you?"

The tabby forced himself not to dig his claws into his pads. "Look, just spit it out. You told me to come here a few days ago, remember? You wanted to tell me something?"

Kitsch sighed, silent for a heartbeat. He turned to meet his gaze; eyes flashing yellow. "Not much telling. I just... wanted you to know that I can't take care of this little fellow." His gaze dropped. "Not anymore."

The kit was huddled in front of him, shivering. The tabby bent down to scent the kit. It was a bitter scent, mixed in with something oddly sweet, like the heather flowers in WindClan. This was Kitsch's son, too; he could tell from the slight frosty scent they both shared.

He glared at Kitsch. _"_ If you think ThunderClan's a place where you can just dump your unwanted kits whenever you like, then get lost. We're not that kind of Clan."

"His mother is gone," the gray tom meowed bluntly. "I really don't have a choice."

"You mean..."

"Yes. Frisk was the mother. She died because she couldn't recover from giving birth to him." Kitsch sighed. "He's our only one."

The young tabby's heart seemed to stop, and he sat down to stop himself from collapsing. "Frisk," he repeated, feeling hollow.

Looking at the kit again, he noticed that it was scrawny; he could see bones against his little pelt, matted and tangled in places. He didn't want to admit it, but he felt for the kit, and his heart twinged with pain when the small crouched figure turned its dulled yellow eyes to meet his blue.

Kitsch blinked at him. "I understand this is a tough request to make. I'm not forcing you to. But I know you're a good cat, after so long together. And if we ever meant anything to you..."

"This isn't about meaning," he snarled. "All I want to do is to make sure that this kit gets the care it needs, somewhere safe." He scooped the kit closer to him with a paw, unusually light. "I'll be taking this kit to ThunderClan. Not for you, or for Frisk. For him."

Kitsch dipped his head. "Thank you, Ritz."

The tabby narrowed his eyes. "Don't call me by that name. My name is _Volepaw_. Nothing else."

"Okay, Volepaw. Take good care of him for me, okay?"

Volepaw nodded curtly, and was about to pick up the kit when Kitsch suddenly brushed his tail against his flank. The muscled gray tom's eyes were soft.

"You're young," he mewed. "You're less than a year old, right?"

"So?" Volepaw tilted his head in confusion. "I'm not that young anymore."

Kitsch breathed. "We used to travel around together, remember? A little band; me, you, and Frisk. We would go everywhere, walking on, knowing we had each other. We fought, ate, and helped each other out whenever we needed it. And... you left us."

Volepaw hissed. "You're accusing me of being a traitor!"

"What I mean is that you were only five moon-cycles-"

"Five moons old, yes," Volepaw cut him off.

"My point is that you were young, and it might have been something you decided on impulse." He looked around. "It's not too late, you know. Once you leave my kit with ThunderClan, if you want to, then... you can join me again. It'll be just like before."

"If you think I'm ever coming back, then you're mousebrained." The light brown apprentice scoffed, not hesitating on his answer. "ThunderClan's my home now. I made my decision long ago. I'm sticking by it."

Kitsch shrugged, with a disbelieving flick of his ear. "I don't understand how you can choose a life with so much rules and boundaries over complete freedom."

Volepaw's eyes glinted almost confidently. "Those rules and boundaries you talk of are what bind us together. They are what make us warriors, and it has been that way for more years than you can ever imagine."

He crouched to pick up the kit by its small scruff. It dangled from his jaws like a freshly caught squirrel, hardly moving. "This is the last time something like this will happen again. Starting tonight, I don't know you." He turned away. "So if you'll excuse me, I have a Gathering to attend tonight."

With a wave of his tail, he picked up his stride and bounded back into the thick forest, disappearing under the cover of shadows once more.

The moonlight shifted.

Kitsch's whiskers twitched, his eyes ablaze with dark amusement. "Oh, dearest Ritz. I'll be seeing you a lot sooner than you think." He looked to the forest beyond the Thunderpath. "In due time, I'll get what I want. For now, we wait."

Behind him, many pairs of eyes opened in the darkness beyond, hiding, seeking, each one glowing fiercely.

Kitsch's message was loud and clear.


End file.
